The Problem

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Transcript of The Problem

I like a church, I like a cowl,I love a prophet of the soul,

And on my heart monastic aislesFall like sweet strains or pensive smiles;Yet not for all his faith can see,Would I that cowled churchman be.Why should the vest on him allure,Which I could not on me endure?

Not from a vain or shallow thoughtHis awful Jove young Phidias brought;Never from lips of cunning fellThe thrilling Delphic oracle;Out from the heart of nature rolledThe burdens of the Bible old;The litanies of nations came,Like the volcano's tongue of flame,Up from the burning core below,The canticles of love and woe.The hand that rounded Peter's dome,And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,Wrought in a sad sincerity,Himself from God he could not free;He builded better than he knew,The conscious stone to beauty grew. I like a church, I like a cowl,I love a prophet of the soul,

And on my heart monastic aislesFall like sweet strains or pensive smiles;Yet not for all his faith can see,Would I that cowled churchman be.Why should the vest on him allure,Which I could not on me endure?

Not from a vain or shallow thoughtHis awful Jove young Phidias brought;Never from lips of cunning fellThe thrilling Delphic oracle;Out from the heart of nature rolledThe burdens of the Bible old;The litanies of nations came,Like the volcano's tongue of flame,Up from the burning core below,The canticles of love and woe.The hand that rounded Peter's dome,And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,Wrought in a sad sincerity,Himself from God he could not free;He builded better than he knew,The conscious stone to beauty grew.

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nestOf leaves and feathers from her breast;Or how the fish outbuilt its shell,Painting with morn each annual cell;Or how the sacred pine tree addsTo her old leaves new myriads?Such and so grew these holy piles,Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.Earth proudly wears the ParthenonAs the best gem upon her zone;And Morning opes with haste her lidsTo gaze upon the Pyramids;O'er England's abbeys bends the skyAs on its friends with kindred eye;For out of Thought's interior sphereThese wonders rose to upper air,And nature gladly gave them place,Adopted them into her race,And granted them an equal dateWith Andes and with Ararat.

These temples grew as grows the grass,Art might obey but not surpass.The passive Master lent his handTo the vast soul that o'er him planned,And the same power that reared the shrine,Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.Even the fiery PentecostGirds with one flame the Countless host,Trances the heart through chanting quires,And through the priest the mind inspires.

The word unto the prophet spokenWas writ on tables yet unbroken;The word by seers or sibyls toldIn groves of oak, or fanes of gold,Still floats upon the morning wind,Still whispers to the willing mind.One accent of the Holy GhostThe heedless world hath never lost.

I know what say the Fathers wise,The Book itself before me lies,Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,And he who blent both in his line,The younger Golden-lips or mines,Taylor, the Shakspeare of divines,His words are music in my ear,I see his cowled portrait dear,And yet for all his faith could see,I would not the good bishop be.

Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's nestOf leaves and feathers from her breast;Or how the fish outbuilt its shell,Painting with morn each annual cell;Or how the sacred pine tree addsTo her old leaves new myriads?Such and so grew these holy piles,Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.Earth proudly wears the ParthenonAs the best gem upon her zone;And Morning opes with haste her lidsTo gaze upon the Pyramids;O'er England's abbeys bends the skyAs on its friends with kindred eye;For out of Thought's interior sphereThese wonders rose to upper air,And nature gladly gave them place,Adopted them into her race,And granted them an equal dateWith Andes and with Ararat.

These temples grew as grows the grass,Art might obey but not surpass.The passive Master lent his handTo the vast soul that o'er him planned,And the same power that reared the shrine,Bestrode the tribes that knelt within.Even the fiery PentecostGirds with one flame the Countless host,Trances the heart through chanting quires,And through the priest the mind inspires. The word unto the prophet spokenWas writ on tables yet unbroken;The word by seers or sibyls toldIn groves of oak, or fanes of gold,Still floats upon the morning wind,Still whispers to the willing mind.One accent of the Holy GhostThe heedless world hath never lost.

I know what say the Fathers wise,The Book itself before me lies,Old Chrysostom, best Augustine,And he who blent both in his line,The younger Golden-lips or mines,Taylor, the Shakspeare of divines,His words are music in my ear,I see his cowled portrait dear,And yet for all his faith could see,I would not the good bishop be. The Problem Ralph Waldo Emerson Reviewing Allusion Definition: A passing reference to something or someone famous Examples from the literature: the Delphic OracleChristian Romethe Parthenon Recognizing Vocabulary Cowl: A hooded garment worn by monks Monastic: Of the characteristics of monks or nuns, their lifestyle, or their religious obligations Litany: A ceremonial form of prayer Seers and sibyls: Prophets